


Acolyte to the Deity of love -Postulant

by Jerrys_Acolyte



Series: Jerry and 'Friends' [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ... Jerry, Adult Humor, Alternate Universe - Reapertale (Undertale), Character in 'Real World', First Person, Freeform, Household chemicals, Jerry - Freeform, Mental Health Humor, Profanity, Unreliable Narrator, Your AC sucks and you're out of coke, gross humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerrys_Acolyte/pseuds/Jerrys_Acolyte
Summary: The Fates confused the strings of fate for balls of yarn -again- so I get a personal visit from the Reapertale god of love...... he's more annoying than my stress can handle.
Series: Jerry and 'Friends' [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941457
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't the first time I’d lost my mind.

Or maybe it was. If I’d never regained my sanity after the initial loss then yes; this is still the first time I’ve lost my mind.

Question of lunacy duration aside, back to the relevant narration;

I really cracked the first time during finals week of my Freshman year in college. Murphy’s law was running rampant, stress had passed some internal limit and I vividly hallucinated fictional characters arriving to help.

To this day; I don’t know how my delusions fixed the plumbing.

Cartoon characters stalked me in college. Wizards, djinn, and magic carpets tempted me in my travels. Things quieted down for a couple years after my marriage. I thought I’d sobered up and gone sane, until I opened the door of my house one afternoon and the hallucinations returned with a horrible twist.

“…Jerry?”

The monster was stretched out on my couch, remote in hand, channel surfing. “Bout time. I’ve been waiting forever.” Jerry grumbled.

He was in my _house_! How was I supposed to ditch him in my own home? “What are you doing here?”

“ _we-do-ba-and-but-doh-if-too-fuh-que-_ “ The television burbled. I’d thought modern digital cable wasn’t supposed to flip like that.

“Fates mistook the strings of destiny for balls of yarn, again.” Jerry stuffed a handful of tortilla chips into his lippy mouth. He crunched, crumbs falling free, as he explained. “Your string got tangled with one of the important ones so you get a visit from a god.” He swallowed and chugged from a can of coke. I was pretty sure the coke cake from my fridge, and the chips from my pantry.

“A… god?” Jerry wasn’t a god. Jerry was an in-game joke that now looked like a lump of snot on my couch. What happened to my usual delusions? The usual ones were cool.

He belched, loud and wet. I’ve judged belching contests, this one was just gross. “Don’t faint or anything. That’s annoying.”

“I’ll contain myself.” Containing my scorn was difficult.

He never stopped flipping through the channels. “ _how-pot-did-ewe-and-the-your-sue-“_ The broken stream of noise this caused had always been a favorite of mine right up there with nails on a chalkboard and audio-feedback screech.

“Is there a point to this…” Be polite, be polite, be polite, “visitation?”

“Duh.” He shoved another handful of chips in his mouth before continuing, spraying crumbs as he spoke. “Your writing sucks.”

Nope. His welcome was officially worn out. I was NOT having _Jerry_ as a muse! No! Nope-nope-nope!

I snatched a garbage back from the kitchen and returned to the living room with the intention of gathering the snacks to throw out and unplugging the television but recoiled in self-defense when he let loose with _another_ form of bodily gas. Again, the noise was objectively disgusting. “… _a-ah…_ ” Jerry sighed, smiling a little. As I said; objectively disgusting. “That’s better. Anyway, your writing sucks. I’m here as the god of love to inspire you to put more fucking in your stories.” Jerry drained the can and tossed it on the coffee table where it knocked another empty can onto the floor… mostly empty can.

For some reason, the expression I was making _now_ was the first he keyed into. “Love, not LOVE, genius.” He sneered. The other way would have been less difficult to accept. “Anyway, the world needs more fucking written by people who _aren’t_ virgin weebs. So, I choose you.” Classy. Was he calling me a slut, harshing on fanfiction, or both? I'm assuming both.

Jerry stood, sliding off my couch with all the grace and poise of yogurt spilling from a child’s fist. “So, there ya go. Divine appointment.” He jammed a finger up his nose. “From the god of love himself. Congrats and get on it.”

He checked his finger, flicked, and grabbed a nutty bar. “Your AC sucks, but since I’m benevolent and stuff; don’t worry about it. You’re welcome. I gotta take a dump.” With that, Jerry vanished in a puff of grey smoke.

I looked around the living room. The coffee table was now littered with half-eaten junk food and empty containers spilling onto the off-white carpeting. Throw pillows and blankets were scattered haphazardly with stains like they’d been used as napkins. The air carried the rank smell of too much cheap body spray and too little washing. The television was turned up way too loud and had landed on a slasher flick with a disemboweled teenager taking too long to die. Overlying everything was a thin layer of grey powder from Jerry’s exit and a lingering sensation about the room of _gross._

I bleached the entire living room on principle.

.

The air conditioning was broken. All day, all night; cold air.

The temperature in the house was perpetually below the ‘minimum’ temperature set by the manual. It was the middle of winter and we had to keep the windows open at night to try and raise the temperature. I couldn’t get the AC to turn off. My husband couldn’t figure it out. The rental management group’s handyman couldn’t figure it out. The repairman requested from the home appliance company couldn’t figure it out. The expert sent by the manufacturer couldn’t figure it out. All attempts to turn the AC off failed. Attempts to uninstall or disassemble the unit were rebuffed. We were given the number of a catholic priest.

He told us to call a handyman.

While that drama was going on, the cable bill came. There were huge charges for subscription channel packages and several movie rentals all on the same day. My husband started to get mad at _me_ about it until I reminded him that was the day I’d spent bleaching the house and had no time to order all those movies. He couldn’t argue with that, we’d been chased out of the house by the cloud of potentially deadly chlorine my overzealous cleaning had caused.

Worth it. By the time the smell had eased so had the feeling of _ick_.

A month passed since it all started. I was returning from the electric company -who refused to cut power so we could finally remove the AC or at least get approval for that exorcism.

Stepping onto the porch, I was hit by déjà vu when I heard the television flipping through the open windows of the house. After waiting a good ten to twenty minutes on the porch just not wanting to go inside, I bit the bullet and unlocked the front door.

Sure enough, there he was. Remote in hand, whatever passed for a butt planted firmly in my couch, guzzling my husband’s soda. _Jerry_.

He barely glanced at me as I came in -zipping my jacket shut and tucking my hands in my pockets against the AC. Instead, he kept his eyes on the flipping channels. “ _-rodin-on-but-he-kay-do-I-at-pik-yrie-done-"_ I really hate that noise.

“It’s been a month. Where’s the fuck fiction?” Ever the gentleman.

“I haven’t written it. Smut is not something I write all the time.” I forced myself to keep my voice steady as I spoke through my wool scarf. He was revolting, but _something_ had happened to the AC which demanded some self-control when dealing with this probably-a-delusion.

“So? Watch some porn.”

“Not my thing.” My short-term forays into the world of pornography had been interesting only on an academic level. That convinced me I was Ace for a while and whether I was or not back then, porn still didn’t do a thing for me.

The thoroughly unwelcome monster sighed and stood up. “Fine.” He grumbled, tossing the remote aside but not putting the soda down. “Benevolence and shit. Here.” Jerry pulled a magazine in a paper sleeve from mid-air and tossed it on the couch. “I expect some fuck writing this time.” He stuck around just long enough to passive aggressively grumble, “Worst. Postulant. Ever.” Before vanishing in a puff of uninteresting smoke.

Again, I set to work bleaching the living room.

While stripping the covers from couch cushions I encountered the ‘gift’ Jerry had left. Curiosity overcame better judgement and I slid the magazine from the protective paper.

_Kilt and Sporran: A Gentleman’s Guide to Traditional Scottish Wear for Formal Occasions._

Oh?

Oh my.

Was it getting warm in here?


	2. Restless gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's back.
> 
> Crap.

Okay, I admit it; I was doing the thing we’re not supposed to do.

In my defense; I was on break and nobody in my company has a habit of reading over shoulders so it was -theoretically- safe to enjoy a little bit of NSFW fanfiction… at work.

We have heavy machinery running in the warehouse next to the break room. It’s too loud to read good literature or something else that takes concentrated thinking. Shut up. Don’t judge me.

So, I’m sitting in the break room and sipping water while reading rare-pare smut because… well, I was thirsty. I had assumed I was alone, so it understandably scared the bejeezers out of me when someone grunted. “How many kinds of shmeer do you people need?”

My phone clattered to the table as I flinched and nearly jumped out of my chair, but then I recognized Jerry.

Not him. Not again.

I went from half out of my seat to slumping back into it, disgruntled beyond belief. Twice was bad enough. We _just_ convinced the rental agency to rip out the AC and plug the vents. And now he was at my workplace. No. Please no.

Jerry grabbed one of the twelve or so kinds of flavored cream cheese my coworkers stocked the fridge with for reasons beyond my ken. He popped the lid off and would have stuck his nose entirely inside if it weren’t so badly snubbed. It was loud and vaguely congested as he sniffed and snorted at the container, then carelessly tossed the cream cheese back into the fridge. I’m not bleaching that.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he poked at a gallon jug of orange juice that was as much a staple of our fridge as the shmeer museum. It was always just under half-full and I feared that Jerry would open that thing and let out some kind of genie or toxic gas.

“What are you doing here?” He returned, complete with that snarky whine of all six-year-olds who discovered copy-catting annoyed people.

“I work here. They give me money. I pay bills and buy food with that money.” It was a good deal, I planned to keep doing just that unless this creep got me fired.

The refrigerator door was allowed to close, he didn’t bother making sure it sealed. “And yet you’re sitting there reading Ice Wolf/Toriel.” His voice was heavy with judgement. I blinked, torn between being impressed that he’d pronounced that forward slash and horrified at the image of him creeping close enough behind me to read over my shoulder. “It’s been over two months. No fuck fiction on that little website of yours.” Plenty, actually… just none that I’d posted.

“It takes time to write.” I defended.

“It takes writing to write.” Jerry retorted with disdain. Disgusting as he was… he wasn’t wrong there.

Still, “I’ve been pulling swings, there’s not a lot of energy left over from that.”

Jerry reached for the shelf where brown-baggers from my shift left our lunches. He bypassed my baked chicken and carrots entirely, grabbing the plastic take-out container next to it. In a moment, his snub nose was snorting over my favorite coworker’s pho. I’m not bleaching that, either. He popped the lid back on and sneered at me. “It’s been over two months, acolyte. I expect to see something up soon… and by ‘soon’ I mean ‘by this time next week’.”

“I’ll do what I can.” I allowed resentfully, hammering on the same argument I’ve been making for all my postpones projects and hobbies. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

Jerry sniffed at me -geeze those nostrils can flare. “You’ll find the time.” He turned his attention back to the lunch shelf, snagging my coworkers crackers as well. “All this benevolence shit. I didn’t even ask for a postulant.” He sighed loudly before looking around the break room with a curled lip. “This place just sucks. I’m out.” And with a puff of smoke, he was.

He took my coworker’s pho with him.

I tried to figure out what to do about the stolen lunch. My coworker was a sweet lady who was _always_ hungry and would certainly miss her lunch being gone… maybe I could order delivery from that place down the street. Did they do delivery? My hand was on my phone to look the place up when it vibrated and started chiming.

Not to sound pathetic and lonely or anything, but my phone rings so rarely it took me a couple seconds to recognize the sound. In that time, I’d dropped the phone, again, then saw the caller ID pop up with my boss’s number. Quickly I grabbed it and swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, how’s it going over there?” My boss came in early and only recently caved to his wife’s demands that he leave at a reasonable hour. Since then we called him for minor disasters, he never called in to check. This was weird.

“We’re good. Everything’s running smoothly.”

“Cool, cool. Listen, we’re going to have to shut down. The governor declared a state-wide shelter-in-place and we have forty-eight hours to button things up here…”

Shit.

This had to be a coincidence. One minute I’m whining to Jerry that there’s not enough time to write his stupid smut stories and the next we’re on (one step below) quarantine? It was a coincidence… nothing at all like our AC going nuts right after Jerry claimed to be benevolent before… it was a pure and total coincidence…

By the wisdom of Toby Fox and the might of the seven traits.

What.

Have.

I.

Done?


	3. Essential Writers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go AWAY Jerry, I need to sleep!

Nap. Nap now.

No. No nap now. Clock out now.

Oh. Okay. Clock out.

The timecard reader chirped and displayed the time. I dropped my timecard back in my designated slot and headed for the front door.

“Bye!” Somebody called.

Belatedly, I turned and waved to my boss in the office. “Have a nice afternoon.” We smiled and waved. The smiles were genuine enough despite both of us being tired. It was a good place to work and getting people to wave back was something of my life’s passion.

I pushed out the front door, digging the car fob from my pocket and struggling with a deep conflict of priorities.

Nap. Nap, nap, nap, nap…

No. Drive home safely, then nap.

Nap first?

No. Drive first, then nap. Nap in bed.

Ooh… nap in bed. Drive home safe, nap in bed!

My priorities straight, I plugged the fob in the ignition and set up an audiobook for the ride home. Without the overwhelming noise of the warehouse machines I could enjoy something deep and intellectual. I really love classic literature… it just happens to be easier to listen to than to read.

The radio kicked on but instead of my usual some hyper bubblegum _garbage_ yelped out the speakers at top volume. I slapped at the radio button, the volume, anything to get the stupid thing to shut up, finally killing the ignition, yanking the fob out, leaping from the car, and slamming the door shut behind me.

I needed a moment. My car had its annoying quirks, but THAT had never happened before. It didn’t help that eight hours of machine rumble always set my nerves on edge for another hour.

While my pulse returned to normal and my ears stopped ringing, my boss finished locking up and left -waving again before pulling away.

Eventually I gathered the calm necessary to open the car door again and settle back into the driver’s seat. I plugged the fob in a second time and started the ignition, not jumping so badly when the techno garbage started spewing. With more control I flipped the volume down to something reasonable before switching the station, then turning the radio off.

“Rude.” Jerry grumped from the back seat.

Again with the jumping out of the car and slamming the door.

I’d stood here not two minutes ago staring at my car. There had been nobody in the back seat but there he was now, upper lip curled in disdain as he watched me stare at him. Crap. This was _not_ what I wanted to do today. Worse, I kind of knew why he was here.

Busted.

For a moment, a silly moment probably induced by how tired I was, my brain toyed with the idea of locking up and abandoning the car with him inside. The no less sleepy but smart enough to realize driving came before naps part of my brain pointed out that if he could get into a locked car to mess with my radio, he could certainly escape a car that didn’t even have child safety locks engaged.

After indulging in another prolonged Standing Stupidly in Parking Lot, I opened the back door. There was no way I was hitting the highway home with this guy sitting behind me. Leaning on the frame much the way as when I spoke to children in car seats -no offense to children intended- I managed to speak to Jerry with a minimum of sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure, this time?”

His disdain deepened. “You missed two weeks of posting. Slow burn’s lame enough, but this is the worst.” Jerry huffed and sunk deeper into the bench seat. I had a fleeting image of taking my car to a dealership or something to have him removed from my upholstery. Then I’d have the dealership send him to a toxic waste incineration facility for daring to look down on the sanctity of the Slow Burn.

“I never agreed to a schedule.” I defended myself. “And it’s the same issue as last time. I don’t have the time or energy to keep up with the writing.”

“You had plenty of time with that human disease… thing.” Jerry waved a dismissive hand at the subject.

“We were closed for one week.” I couldn’t even tell if I was annoyed at Jerry or the confusion of my situation. “Then they decided we were -somehow- ‘Essential Personnel’ and work started up again, except too many employees had to stay home and now I’m stuck on morning shift!” Swings sucked. Morning shift sucked just as much. It meant getting up at four in the morning to get through my commute and get to work on time. Damn, I just wanted a nap.

And junk food. Sleep deprivation made me crave junk food.

“Ugh.” Jerry gave a groaning huff. “Why are you so high maintenance?” Minimum wage is NOT high maintenance, thank you. “ _Fine_.”

I waited for the other shoe to drop. Fine what? But he didn’t say anything more, just disappeared in that banal grey smoke which left a nasty grey residue all over the inside of my car.

… was it possible I was off the hook?

It was far too tempting to believe, but still unbelievable. If luck was on my side I wouldn’t have been stuck with Jerry in the first place.

It was concerning and I would have been more scared, maybe rushed home and written some smutty one-shots to appease the Reapertale deity but…

_Nap NOW!_

The reasonable side of my brain kicked the other side.

Drive safe, then nap.

…

Burgers while driving.

Drive, junk food, nap…


	4. Two Weeks' Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerry pisses me off, and I think my boss is a mage.

“Come on… lee-eetle further… almost… _there_ we go!” The very tip of my middle finger barely scratched against the nail of my big toe. Toe-touch accomplished, I allowed myself to straighten up. The sharp pain in the back of my thighs settled into a steady burn and my back popped, releasing some tension. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Oh, _that’s_ attractive.”

I screamed, fully screamed as I jumped, turning so my back was covered by a bookcase while I confronted the unexpected person who had been directly behind me.

…Jerry.

I maintained my reverent awareness of his eerie power over my AC and the odd coincidences involving the quarantine. “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY GODDAMNED HOUSE!?!”

“Tch. Not like it’s _your_ house.” Jerry scoffed. “You _rent_.” He meandered through the dining room to a place of cheese and grapes I’d set out for my husband.

“What are you doing in my house?” I repeated.

Jerry rolled his eyes so he was staring at me sidelong. “Hello. Monday, no new chapter.”

“I was busy.” I snapped, pointedly picking up the dirty laundry both myself and my husband had peeled off and just dropped in a pile after three days of rather intensive yard work, the final push of three weekends spent turning overgrown land into a scenic lawn. We were both stinking, stiff, and sore… and sleepy, if you must have another ‘s’ word. My husband had gone on a walk to work out some of the muscle stiffness while I chose to stay inside and recover with some stretching. Stretching best done without a disgusting booger-monster staring at my ass.

Jerry took a piece of cheddar from the plate and bit into it, grimaced, and set the bitten piece back on the plate. “Not my problem.” He grabbed a couple grapes instead. “You’re the acolyte, you can manage a meager weekly tribute.”

I didn’t want to pay any tribute to this disgusting creature. “I work full time, I kind of need the money for _rent_.” I leaned hard on that word because he’d done the same, jerk. “I’m getting ready to restart school and I have other responsibilities.”

He rolled his eyes up and did that little head shake I associate with the snottiest, brattiest of tweens… except Jerry has no neck so that head-shake translated to his entire body and hecking heck if that wasn’t gross. “Yeah, responsibilities including your weekly tribute. It’s just once a week, I don’t know why you’re so ungrateful.”

‘Ungrateful’. If I had any kind of serious trigger, it was that word. I grit my teeth and consciously reigned in my temper, which was nearly as difficult as pulling back a bullet after it’s been shot. If intent could give a human the power to dust a monster with a single blow, even Jerry’s high defense stats wouldn’t protect him should I lose it and smack him around.

“Get out. Of my house.”

“Geeze. Rude?”

I was snarling by now. “YES! You are rude; you’re crude, you’re unwelcome, and you’re trespassing! Get out of my house!”

“Ugh, I know when I’m-”

“No! You don’t know! So, get out!” I marched to the laundry room and retrieved a broom, then turned back toward Jerry feeling reasonably sure I could get him out of the house without killing him if a broom was my weapon of choice. He might come up higher than my waist and have a ridiculously low center of gravity, but I was pissed. “Now.” I repeated when I saw he was reaching for another grape.

“Fine.” He whined. “I’m gone.” Jerry rolled his eyes, huffed derisively, and was gone with a puff of smoke.

Not satisfied, I threw the broom through the smoke. The clatter as it ricocheted off the floor and against the wall wasn’t nearly satisfying enough.

I didn’t doubt I’d be hearing about this later, but I was too angry to care.

“Ungrateful.” I snarled, awash in bad memories that needed to be shaken off before I made myself sick.

~

A pint of mint gelato, some cooking, a long hot shower, a movie with my husband, some snobby reading, and a night’s sleep that wasn’t quite long enough were required to shake the funk from that word.

I clocked in to work before the sun rose, grumbling as always about the hour. My boss had gotten in about thirty seconds before me and my coworkers streamed in after me. We dropped our lunches and such in the breakroom. The owner’s daughter started the coffee machine while the rest of us hit the warehouse floor and tended our respective machines and order sheets. Once my earmuffs were on, my hands worked largely by habit and my mind wandered; plotting chapters, reviewing the week’s shopping list, working on character sketches, thinking up to-do lists for when I got home, working through some of my recent reading, or just counting the seconds as I went through the motions of resetting the machines to ensure my timing was still good.

The owner’s daughter, my second supervisor, stopped by and dropped off a new sheaf of papers describing work orders I was to fill. I kept working until I had a spare moment to look the orders over before returning to my current job. A little while later the owner herself stopped by with a box of supplies and a rush order that had to be put ahead of the others. She waved to get my attention and signaled for us to leave the warehouse together. We stepped through a heavy steel door and once it was closed I removed my headset and waited for what she had to say.

The owner is an interesting woman. An entrepreneur that started the business on her own, co-owner of the whole business, and matriarch of her family -many of whom worked at the family business. She was a smart woman with a keep business sense and solid understanding of economic shifts over the last several decades that allowed her to keep the place not just operational but booming. All that sharp intelligence and business sense was wrapped in an aura of sweet gentleness and light. When I spoke to her, the conversation was always pleasant and refreshing but when we parted ways she scared the ever loving puff-n-stuff out of me -largely because of that angelic aura.

“That order with the black #2 needs to be done next. Is that okay?” As if I had a choice, and yet it felt like she was afraid to inconvenience my carefully arranged schedule.

“Understood. I like #2.” I couldn’t even stop myself from sounding reassuring.

“Oh, thank you.” She smiled and the sun began to rise… admittedly, it was six thirty so the sun was supposed to be rising but in that moment the two felt related. “At this rate we’ll finish this season in less than two weeks!”

“That’s wonderful” We smiled at each other and I reached for my headset. “Well, back to work.”

“Oh, don’t let me hold you up.” She said, and we parted ways. I covered my ears again and re-entered the warehouse, she went on her way to the office.

When the door closed behind me and her otherworldly influence waned, it finally hit me; less than two weeks of the season’s work. I’d been hired for the season with a half dozen other temp employees. All but myself had to leave for different reasons. The quarantine hit and the shop had been completely shut down for a week, after that week we’d cut an entire shift because of the shortage of employees. There was no way in hell they were running so far ahead on orders that we’d be finished in two weeks.

And that also meant in two weeks; I’d be out of a job.

… Jerry.


	5. Dust to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Empty threats happen to be a pet peeve of mine.

A crow landed too close to the robin’s nest outside my window and the robin wasn’t having it. Someone coughed and it echoed through the vents. My older brother was playing one of the Zelda games with the volume turned up so he could hear it over the podcast that was playing at an accelerated rate… also turned up so it could be heard over the game.

It wasn’t the best environment for trying to plug up holes in my outline. How did I miss that? I’d outlined the plotting for one couple but not the other. I need the other couple to do something to pass the time and develop their own relationship -or impersonation there-of- so I can get the first couple in place for the major storyline without any awkward time skips. I hate awkward times skips.

“No work, no school, and you still can’t update on time. Tch. I don’t know what I expected.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!” I demanded.

From the opposite side of the house came, “GET OUT OF HER ROOM, AND I DON’T LIKE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE, YOUNG LADY!”

Thirty-one years old and my mother’s scolding me. Wonderful. Thankfully, my little brother is out on an errand and didn’t hear the first part.

Jerry smirked. “Busted.” My brothers and I might be adults, but I doubt Jerry counts as one.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “This isn’t my house, you don’t have permission to come in here!” I will literally throw his ass out the window -the second story window with a tree in front of it- if he pisses me off even a little. Then the robin and the crow can eat him for all I care. He will _not_ be seen by and consequently offend my mother. If he says something that makes her cry on the anniversary of my grandmother’s death; I will dust his ass and Death can try to complain about it.

“Hello? Missed another update. That’s two in a row. What’s you’re excuse this time?” Jerry managed to sound both resigned and snide.

“I’m working on it! Actively. Right now!” I pointed to my laptop on the bed. “It’s just not coming.” Talking to him about this while sitting on my bed might have been weird, but not as weird as my parents replacing my old twin size bed with a full size that barely fit in the room because … I don’t even know why.

Jerry rolled his eyes, entire snot saucer body following the gesture. Ew. “What is so hard about writing fuck fiction?”

Besides avoiding members only boys, girls with sacred chambers, an excess of wontons, and everyone talking like Japanese Hentai? “I’m working through a plot hole and some timing issues.”

Jerry snorted derisively. Oh gross, there was projection. Gross, gross, gross, gross… “Just write fucking!” He made a hole with one hand and ran one finger of the other hand through it. His arms were stretching oddly to reach each other. “The important part is the fucking, and you haven’t posted any of that yet. Ugh!” He pulled his phone out, sneering at me even as he started tapping the screen. “I mean, slow burn? What a joke.” Wow. Had Jerry actually looked at my story closely enough to see the tags? I’ve been posting for a few months and he only now realizes I haven’t gotten to any sexy bits yet. Not even smooching. Not even close.

“Porn without plot is boring.” I countered. “I won’t write it.” Not often, anyway…

“Whiny postulant.” Jerry grumbled just a little too loud to be solely for his own benefit. Louder and still without looking up from his phone, he added, “ _Fine_ , do what you have to do, just get that chapter done. If you can’t work through this one, just start another one… one with some real fucking?”

“I get it.” Okay, that was nasal and definitely living up to making me whiny postulant of the month. Do I get my picture posted somewhere in Reapertale? Maybe a pep talk from Papyrus? A hug from Reapertale Papyrus and I would, quite literally, die happy.

“Sure ya do. That’s why we keep having these little talks.” He’d have a point if I volunteered or was somehow paid to write in this genre, but I didn’t and I’m not so he doesn’t. “Get it done. No more ‘slow burn’ garbage.” Porn is garbage. Slow burn is sweet, sweet satisfaction. Almost as good as training montages and characters with marshmallow centers.

“ _Fine._ ” Oh yeah, whiner of the month, right here.

“Better be.” Jerry grumped before his usual disappearing act with the smoke… smoke puffing up and then settling down like a year’s worth of dust.

That’s when my mother chose to come in to ask a question.

Did I mention my mother’s an asthmatic?


	6. That Old College Try

“It was an accident. You scared me.” The words were out of my mouth before my workbook hit the floor.

Standing next to the fallen book, Jerry crossed his arms and looked supremely unamused… more so than usual. “An accident.” He tsked. “Like you didn’t already know I was coming.”

“I never do! Sometimes I’m late on a post and you’re jumping down my throat within a couple hours, other times I keep missing updates and I don’t see you for months! You don’t keep to a pattern so you are NOT predictable.” Or wanted, really. By this point not expecting Jerry to show up is just pure wishful thinking with a heavy dash of denial.

I’d mention Jerry to my shrink, but I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.

“If you know I’m coming, just put the stupid chapter up, or at least some decent smut.”

“Smut is rarely decent.” Shit, did I just say that out loud.

“Not my problem, just put _something_ up.” I did say that out loud. With no consequences, it seems. Go me.

I pushed away from the dining room table and went to collect my workbook from where I’d thrown it. As I reached for it, Jerry snatched it up like he didn’t see me walk across the whole dang room just to get it…

“Just what is this stuff anyway?” He asked with a sniff just to prove he wasn’t actually interested.

“EMT recertification. I’m trying to get back in the field.”

“Back?” He curled a lip as if the entire effort of a conversation were below him, poking through the workbook in a way that almost guaranteed the two-hundred-dollar money pit would tear at any given moment.

“Yes. I lost my EMT certification moving around, now I’m trying to get it back. That’s why the workbook’s so heavy.” And the textbook at least twice as big. Thankfully I hadn’t thrown that at Jerry because I could hear the little rips and tears as he carelessly flipped through the pages.

“So, all you’re doing instead of posting your chapters is worksheets? The answers are in the back. What’s the problem?” He huffed and tossed the workbook aside, forcing me to walk around him to grab it off the floor. It all felt too familiar, like the last guy who couldn’t understand why anyone bothered to study back in… wait…

That’s it. That’s who Jerry reminded me. There was this idiot stoner the first time I went through college. He got kicked out for working the welding machines while under the influence. That guy didn’t even pack his stuff, just grabbed his lighter and some of his stash and threatened to sue before walking out.

The college had to call in a special team to clean up after him.

That’s _exactly_ who Jerry reminded me of!

Ew… and he’d run his fingers all through my workbook. I still have twelve chapters to finish and I don’t think I’m going to be able to stomach that without wearing gloves the whole time. I can already see grease stains on the pages… please be junk food grease. Oh, that’s so gross.

“Listen, Jerry,” The word felt so alien on my tongue. Have I never actually said his name before? Whatever. I was studying to be an EMT, it was time for a different kind of test. I put everything I had -all my training, all my professional and life experience, into sculpting a body posture, expression, and tone that showed openness, trust, mutual respect, and any number of other things I absolutely did not feel for the revolting little monster. “I can’t update. This week I’m swamped with worksheets, reports, skills practice, two more lectures, eight quizzes, and two tests. Next week is finals -ALL next week. I’m swamped, it’s physically impossible for me to invest enough time into schoolwork, housekeeping, and my job applications. The next chapters are just going to have to wait. I’m not giving up on the story I’m posting, and I have a few others in the works, but this upcoming fortnight is just impossible.” After my speech, I tried to finish with a pitiable and friendly little smile. Something friendly that said ‘hey, what can I do?’

By the time I’d finished, Jerry had found my husband’s candy stash and was munching a fun size chocolate bar, the wrapper discarded on the floor. He didn’t bother swallowing before shrugging. “Tough break.”

I very carefully set my workbook back on the table so I’d be too busy to cringe in disgust. Wounds and injuries of all levels of gore? Violent illness? Unstable lunatics? Fine and dandy. Jerry? Too much to bear.

“When’s this final supposed to be?” Jerry asked, scratching his ass with vigor.

“Next week.”

The monster scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No, really?” He snarked. “Don’t bother with specifics or anything.”

I pointed to the wall calendar in the kitchen where my schedule was written, then outlined by subject in color pencil. “I can’t be more specific. We start testing Monday. We finish testing Thursday afternoon. My job interview is Friday.”

“And then you’ll be a medic. Whoopie.” Jerry twirled a finger in mocking celebration.

“No.” I corrected. “Then I’ll be working a dead-end job trying to make ends meet until I can get nationally certified and then start looking for a job as an EMT.” And praying to every god mankind ever worshiped that the job will pay enough.

Jerry’s body squished and stretched into something I thought might translate into some head gesture or a shrug or something, I’m not sure. He did manage to communicate long-suffering and a bare minimum of patience that was costing him infinitely to put forward. “Fine. Finish your class stuff, get the stuff done.” He tossed the candy jar back into the pantry where it crashed into a bunch of other stuff and a moment later some small pieces of candy and a can of soup rolled out on the floor. Jerry then pointed at me trying to be serious, but the bored sneer ruined it. “Just get back to posting in two weeks.” The guy just wasn’t able to dredge up enough interest to be threatening. The lack of interest worsened when something else in the pantry caught his attention. He grabbed a bucket of synthetic cheesy something or another -another of my husband’s snacks- and was gone.

I stood in the entry between the dining room and the kitchen for several minutes, trying to figure out if that was a win or not.


End file.
